


Black Box

by Anonymous



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Gen, POV Original Character, POV Outsider, experimental and maybe a bit pretentious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:26:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/728.html?thread=719064#t719064">Probably not what the OP wanted</a>...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Box

"Oi, Sanders! Lunch?"

Lynda paused the recording and took her headphones off.

"What? No, no, I'm busy!"

Frakking Jones, always interrupting. She kept yelling something about obsessive workaholics (presumably), but Lynda had already put her headphones back on and was listening intently, trying to make sense of the garbled recording.

`MALE #1 (deep voice, older, presumably the Captain, aka Mr Smooth): Shall we [static noise] Arthur?`

`MALE #2 (younger voice): Yep, he'll be over the moon with [static]. Besides, he'll never forgive us if we don't.`

`Mr Smooth: Yes, he might stop talking to us again, and only communicate through charades. Best to nip that in the bud.`

`MALE #2: Mr Arthur Shappey, please report to the flight deck.`

Lynda paused her typing and snorted. The official language was a joke. MALE #3 had always been just "Arthur". But now she had a full name. She was still waiting for names for the Captain and First Officer. All she had were the black box and a note from her boss to "figure out what was _really_ going on" (emphasis his). Well, that's what she always did; that was her _job_. It wasn't her fault they sometimes didn't like the results.

`Arthur: Hey, chaps. What's going on? Did you want more food? I have a new recipe, I was just going to try it on me first, but if you're still hungry-`

Both voices yelled something - probably just a "No", but really loudly; the sound level spiked into the red, and Lynda winced. Okay, Arthur Shappey, funny voice, steward, _terrible_ cook.

She was going to write a book one day, so she never stopped collecting character sheets. The boxes could provide one with an incredible variety of personalities, if one knew how to listen, and if Lynda knew something about herself, she knew that she was a great listener.

`Arthur: All right, fair enough, chaps.`

`MALE #2: Arthur, we called you on deck so you could take a good look at this bit of ocean that we're flying over.`

`Arthur: Wow, it's brilliant! Is that a ship? Or - wow, do you think it's a whale?`

`MALE #2 :` (come on, Lynda thought, give me a name!) `No, Arthur, I don't think we could be seeing a whale from this height.`

`Mr Smooth: Not unless the height is not what we _think_ it is... Oh, would you look at that, Captain.`

`MALE #2: What, what is it, Douglas?`

Aha! Lynda punched the air. Mr Smooth's file now read: Douglas, middle aged, sexy voice, cool, sarcastic sky god. She was so caught up in this new information that she almost missed the other bit of data. Captain? So the young one was the Captain after all. Interesting.

`Douglas: Both altimeters indicate the same height. That's never happened before.`

Oh. Lynda switched from writer to technician and made a note: "Possible instrument malfunction: altimeters." Of course, the FDR would be with Nida and Clyde in the lab downstairs, but their analysis would be corroborated with her cockpit interaction report, and every bit could be meaningful.

She hesitated before resuming the recording. Most of what they sent her were routine checks, so-called impromptu inspections - although, judging from the stilted conversations she sometimes had to sit through, some people knew about them well in advance; she always knew which were the fixed ones, and always noted her suspicions in her reports, not that it had ever endeared her to her superiors.

Once in a while, however... Once in a while there were accidents, malfunctions, shouts and noises and desperate struggles; when she'd eventually find out the fate of those planes, there rarely was a happy end.

She took a deep breath and clicked Play.Captain: No, Arthur, the point is not the ocean itself, but our location over it. See, we're flying to Miami - that's one point; way over there to the south there's Puerto Rico - no, you can't see it, Arthur, I'll [static] on the map; that's the second point; _and_ we've just passed the island of Bermuda.

Arthur: Wow! And?

Captain: And! And three [static] on a map determine a...?

Arthur: A three point map?

Captain: No! A tri...?

Arthur: Tri-map?

Captain: Oh, come on, Arthur, you read it about it all the bloody time! A _triangle_ , three points, a triangle.

Arthur: Oooh!

Douglas: And with [static] Bermuda as one of those points...

Arthur: Wow! We're flying over the Bermuda Triangle!

Douglas: Well done, Arthur.

Arthur: Is anything weird going to happen?

Douglas: Well, with you on the flight deck, [static] say that [static] was the norm... But who knows, maybe Martin will perform a textbook landing.

Martin, Lynda noted absently. Finally, a name for the young Captain. Martin, thirty-something, distinctive voice, occasionally witty, _not_ a sky god.

`Martin: No, Arthur, nothing weird is going to happen. The Bermuda Triangle [static] a myth. We just thought you'd like to know [static] flying over it.`

`Arthur: Er, chaps? Is [static] supposed to do this?`

`Martin: What? A-ha-ha, nice try, Arthur.`

`Douglas: No, Martin, really- [static]`

`Martin: Where [static] those clouds come from?`

`Arthur: Wow, turbulence!`

`Martin: Douglas, the compass!`

`Douglas: Never mind the [static], what's the [static] trying to [static]`

`Martin: Douglas! What are you [static] the stabilisers [static] [static]`

`Douglas: I wasn't [static], it's just completely out of [static] [crackle] Hold on, Arthur!`

Silence followed. Lynda thumped the desk with her fists in frustration. Her heart was beating madly in her chest. It wasn't a normal silence, it wasn't the static noise of a damaged recording, it was like the tape had been wiped out entirely. She was just beginning to wonder if there was anything more, when Arthur's voice intruded once more upon the silence.

`Arthur: Is it safe to stand again?`

`Douglas: Try [static] tower again! Get a message [static] _Any_ tower, I don't think we [static] picky right now!`

`Martin: I meant I can't [static] signal at all! We're completely [static] Douglas!`

`Douglas: No, we're not. We just need to [static] control.`

`Martin: Yes, Douglas, you have [static]`

Silence - normal silence this time, with low-level noise and background plane noises; engines still running, a part of Lynda's mind noted.

`Martin: Look, Douglas, in case [static] doesn't work I just want to`

`Douglas: Oh, shut up, Sir [static]`

`Martin: These past few years at MJN have been the best of my life.`

`Douglas: Martin... [static]`

`Arthur: Oh, chaps, I [static]`

`[crackling] [static]`

`Arthur: Wow, brilliant [static] light [static] Is that a [static] [static]`

Dead, empty silence again. Lynda realised she'd just bitten her nails to the flesh; she hadn't been doing that in years. She balled her hands into fists and waited, biting her lips instead until she heard Arthur's voice again.

`Arthur: Er, chaps? Skip, Douglas? Where are you? [static] Chaps? Is this [static] best time [static] hide-and-seek?`

`[silence, background noise]`

`Arthur: Is this a test, chaps? Er, I suppose [static] give it a try... I've seen lots of films and [static]`

`Arthur: Wow, there's that [static] again! Wow [static] you really oughta see this [static]`

Complete, dead silence. Lynda jumped out of her chair, pausing the recording and looking around the office. The nearest desk was still unoccupied; Jones liked to eat slow and talk plenty. Two desks over, Shane threw her a questioning look, but Lynda waved him off. There was no point talking to him about this.

She sat back, fighting the knot in her chest and the shaking in her hands. If there was more, she had to listen to all of it. Maybe it had been a test, or a practical joke. Pilots had a weird sense of humour, she'd had to listen to plenty of pranks and bad jokes, even in the recordings where they knew they were going to be evaluated.She pressed Play again. Regular silence resumed for the rest of the recording, what there was of it. There were loud, crashing noises after a while; she listened with an odd sense of detachment; "there isn't anyone on that plane, anyway," she found herself thinking; then a click, as the tape ended.

Lynda breathed and sat up straight in her chair; she realised she'd been hunched over the box as if she could read the fate of the crew in it, something, anything that went beyond what the instruments had left there. Her nails were digging into her palms and she unclenched her fists with a conscious effort.

She sat like that for a while. The office stayed obstinately calm. Olga returned to her desk, waving to her and Shane before hunching over her own computer.

Maybe the prank was on her. There'd been a year since the previous Bermuda black box and her refusal to amend her report to "something more scientifically acceptable". The mocking had mostly petered out, but Clyde had a long memory, and Nida could never say no to him; maybe they'd made up the whole thing.

There was a commotion in the corridor, and she heard Jones' voice just outside the door.

"This way, please," she was saying. She came in, accompanied by an older woman. "Lynda, this is Ms Knapp-Shappey, CEO of MJN Air. She, uhm, would like to know- To listen to- You have the CVR of her plane."

Ms Knapp-Shappey, MJN Air... Lynda's mind worked frantically, connecting the dots. Oh, God.

"Hello, Ms Sanders."

"Hello," Lynda said feebly. "Yes, I..." She gestured at the box.

"I'd like to listen to that, if you please."

"Ms Knapp-Shappey, I'm not sure..." Jones said, her eyes going between the old lady and Lynda.

" _I_ am sure," Ms Knapp-Shappey said, cutting her off briskly.

"Of course. Jones, would you bring us some tea, please?" Lynda said.

"I'm not your secretary, Scully," Jones began, but Lynda cut her off.

"Firstly, if anything, you're the Scully in this relationship, and secondly," she hissed pleadingly, "please, Jones, tea?"

What she wanted was to let Ms K-S listen to that tape in peace; maybe that's what she _should_ do; wouldn't it be kinder to give her some privacy? She bit her lip. What she was going to do was sit there with the old woman and try not to guess from the look in her eyes which sequence of the recording was playing right then; and fail.

When it was over, Ms Knapp-Shappey removed the headphones and placed them carefully on the desk.

The silence stretched on, reminding Lynda uncomfortably of the eerie dead silence on the tape. She didn't dare say anything.

When Ms Shappey spoke at last, her voice held nothing of the brittle commanding tone she'd taken in the beginning. Instead, it was calm and wistful.

"Out of all the trips, this is the one I sit out. I could have been there with them."

She must have seen something on Lynda's face, because she clarified. "Wherever they are, whatever that _is_. I'd rather be with them."

Lynda was biting her nails again; she didn't even try to fight it this time; her eyes were smarting. "Ms Knapp-Shappey," she began. "Look, I know how it sounds, but- the Triangle- and there was this flight last year that I listened to- Do you think-"

"Oh, no one cares what a little old lady thinks." Ms Knapp-Shappey's voice was firm and commanding again.

"But I do, I-"

"I'd thank you for indulging a crazy old lady's wishful delusions, dear, but it's really not necessary."

"No, Ms Knapp-Shappey, look, I-" Lynda made up her mind in a moment.

She pulled out all the reports from last year, all her notes, all her carefully constructed arguments.

When she was done, Ms Knapp-Shappey looked at her with a strange spark in her eyes.

"Well, Ms- may I call you Lynda? Would you like to come over to my place and tell me more about all this over tea?"

Lynda nodded. Carolyn picked up her purse, then turned to her. "You know we could still be just two little crazy ladies, don't you?"

Lynda nodded, with a faint smile. "I know, but if you agree, I'd rather be crazy with you and them," she nodded at the box, "than sane with all the rest."


End file.
